


Another Vulcan Fantasy

by Pamela Rose (pamela_rose)



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:29:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24301384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pamela_rose/pseuds/Pamela%20Rose
Summary: Guess what happens when the transporter splits Spock instead of Kirk?  Vulcans are the wackiest people.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 4
Kudos: 84





	Another Vulcan Fantasy

**Author's Note:**

> Published in Aftermath (1980) and Cheap Thrills 2 (1981)

> _A person’s strongest dreams are about the  
>  things he can’t do. _<(The Menagerie)

It had been a most unsettling day for Spock, and he was relieved when he was able to return to his quarters where he could relax and think in private. The Captain had been very quiet, almost subdued, after the incident with the transporter, yet Spock felt Kirk had handled the situation far better he could have. Not only by facing the dark, evil part of his nature, but also by being willing to accept it back into himself. It took an enormous amount of courage. The Vulcan’s respect for his captain soared even higher.

Spock pulled off his clothes and slipped into a robe before composing himself for meditation. To his annoyance, all his mental discipline seemed to have deserted him. Stray thoughts intruded, drawing his mind off on tangents. Deciding he was simply too weary to think clearly, he finally shrugged off the robe and went to bed.

Even there the questions continued nagging at his mind. How would he have dealt with what had happened? Could he have dealt with it as well as Kirk had done? And when Jim needed his understanding, had he been too harsh? Perhaps the problem was that he’d understood too well; he’d had to back off because it hit too close. As a hybrid, he was certainly no stranger to feeling torn and at odds with himself.

He rolled over restlessly, not wanting to think about that. He’d struggled with that dichotomy so much during his life, he was heartily sick of worrying about it. Besides, if the transporter had split him instead of Kirk, it wouldn’t necessarily be into a Human half and a Vulcan half. There were negative and positive qualities in each. It was more likely he would have been separated in the same manner as Jim.

But just what would the positive and negative qualities be? And what would they do, set free of each other? It wasn’t difficult to picture the positive half—the meek, quiet, studious personality. Shy to the point of painfulness. Content to locate a corner out of everyone’s way and spend his time translating Surak’s Constructs into Latin or some such. Spock gave a very un-Vulcan chuckle at the thought.

However, the other part—the negative one—now, that was hard to pin down. He had an uneasy feeling that it might be the stronger part of his personality. Dominant enough, obviously, to enable him to strike out against tradition and his father’s wishes to join Starfleet. It made him stubborn and determined enough to cope with all the cutting remarks and subliminal prejudice he had faced at the Academy and during his first years in the service. And there were other disturbing traits that he thought of as distinctly negative. His temper, for one, although he sensed he would always be able to control it if it benefited him to do so. But the most vexing part of his nature, what he always found the most difficult to control, was his undeniable sensuous streak. Beauty in all forms called to his senses like sirens. Whether it was in enjoying the sight of a beautiful woman or a dilithium crystal, or the sound of a Brahms waltz or Uhura’s singing, or even the pleasurable sensation of petting a cat, it was quite capable of distracting him momentarily from the paths of logic.

Spock fell asleep wondering how that dismaying quality in him would react if set free . . .

* * *

The bazaar was teeming with inhabitants of all sizes, shapes, and races. There was a jumble of sights, and sounds, and smells—both savory and unsavory. The jangling, discordant tunes of the street musicians mixed with the shrill cries of the vendors, with voices speaking a dozen different languages.

Spock strolled through it all with an air of faint distaste, but still drinking in the excitement, the garishness, the air of mystery and decadence that permeated the huge square. It was also a dangerous place, and Spock liked that sensation as well. It made his blood race hotter and his senses keener. In any case, most individuals had a lively enough regard for self-preservation to keep their distance from the Vulcan. If the dagger strapped to the lean thigh didn’t cause them to retreat, then the hard glint in the dark eyes and the smooth ripple of muscle under the thin silk shirt did. Only the very foolish or the very greedy even thought about trying to rob him or drag him off to the slavers. The few who had attempted in the past were quite dead. He’d taken no joy in the actual killings, but the brief struggles had been amusing.

Since the transporter had split him, Spock was discovering many things he enjoyed immensely. All the fine, sensuous, sweet, seductive actions and objects in the universe he’d refused to let himself even think about in his previous life, now they were all his for the taking, and he reveled in it. He had chosen this planet very carefully, desiring a place outside of Federation law—or _any_ law. He had no use for rules and regulations and moral codes. After nearly forty years of rigid, controlled life, he wanted freedom.

The only hesitance he’d had about taking that freedom was when he was forced to dispose of that . . . other half. It had too closely resembled suicide, and he loved life far too dearly to relish taking it from one who was so much like him—even if only physically. But there had been no choice; it was either kill him or be forced to take that quiet, passive, _boring_ person back into himself. It was impossible even to consider. One does not walk willingly back into a jail cell. Spock desperately wanted to escape from that old life, and he had. Stealing a shuttle, hopping from planet to planet, farther each time, he had covered his tracks well.

Once he had acquired the right connections, money was no problem. He was a very wealthy man now, and becoming progressively wealthier by selling technical information to the Romulans. He cared nothing for the credits, but deeply appreciated the luxuries they could buy. That did not keep him from being careful not to flood the market, however. He didn’t want to give the Romulans too much. It would be very inconvenient for them to defeat the Federation—it would ruin his trade, for one thing, and he preferred to live under the more lax Federation than the authoritarian Romulan rule. Of course, he had no intention of abiding by any rules.

This planet, and several like it, were purposely left alone by both sides. It was practical to have a place for dissidents to go, and useful for the spies of both governments. Spock found it perfectly suited to his needs. The only law here was the law of supply and demand, and survival of the fittest—or smartest.

Spock glanced around to make certain that his slave was still close behind him. He wasn’t concerned that she would run away, but that she might be stolen, for she was quite lovely and would bring a good price. He’s paid a lot for her himself, although she was not nearly as exquisite as some others he had. But he didn’t want to risk those by bringing them to the market place.

She smiled at him shyly when he turned, and he smiled back and touched her cheek lightly, thinking he might have made an error in judgment. She was very lovely indeed. with huge blue eyes, long white-gold hair—he’d always been partial to blondes—and, if she was not perfect, she did have an engaging way about her. Yes, next time he would leave Nikki at home and bring Patrice instead. He was growing tired of her anyway.

After placing Nikki in a more reputable aircab to be returned to his residence, he wandered on through the market, purchasing items that interested him—a rare bottle of Terran brandy. a shimmering bolt of cloth that felt cool as running water on one side and warm as sunlight on the other, a Denebian tapestry, and a few bright gems for his favorite women.

Nearing the auction area, he paused. Although he had a sufficient number of slaves now, there was always the chance they would be selling something rare or exceptional. When he saw that they were auctioning males, he started to turn away, for he had no interest in men. The few he had tried had been very unsatisfying. They were usually too womanish and silly, and he despised weakness in women or men. And if he wanted femininity, he would take a woman, not a pathetic copy. Those who had retained their masculinity were usually untrained and clumsy and soon bored him.

As he turned to go, the slave who was led up to the block caught his gaze. He looked familiar. Something about the way he moved, the head thrown up defiantly, unlike most of the others. Intrigued, Spock moved closer to the front of the crowd. One eyebrow shot up in a mixture of surprise and amusement. James T. Kirk on an auction block. What an interesting situation.

Stepping to the front row, Spock looked him over carefully, wondering how Kirk would react when he saw him. It wasn’t hard to guess how the Human had gotten here. No doubt the very noble Captain had decided to locate and rescue his misguided First Officer even after Starfleet had given up the chase. Certainly it was totally in character for Kirk to follow his instincts and take off on his own like this, but it was unexpected for him to be captured—and held for any length of time—by slavers. Kirk was cunning for a Human, and ordinarily quite capable of taking care of himself in any situation. The man who had figured out how to defeat a Gorn, should have easily outwitted a stupid Orion slaver. Obviously he hadn’t been taken without effort. There was a small scar over Kirk’s right eye and a larger one on his ribcage; but both were healing well, so he had been held captive for some time. Since he was being sold for pleasure instead of manual labor, he’d been well cared for. The Orions received higher prices for pleasure slaves; therefore they wanted him to look his best. He’d lost weight, but not too much, and there were no scars on his back from beatings. They were expecting a very high price indeed, or they wouldn’t have been so careful not to damage the goods. Spock had no doubt they would get it, too, for Kirk did look very attractive. Already many of the crowd, male and female alike, were leaning closer, summing up his assets with hungry eyes.

Kirk’s face was slightly flushed, either from struggling with his captors or from embarrassment. Probably a touch of both. His muscled chest was slick with sweat, from the exertion and the planet’s high temperature, and his breathing was rapid. His hair had grown a bit longer, and they’d lightened the color slightly as a better selling point. It was streaked with honey now, and it brought out the golden highlights in the hazel eyes. Those defiant, angry, half-frightened eyes met Spock’s briefly as they swept the crowd, then passed on, uncaring.

Spock’s eyebrow arched higher. It was very strange that Kirk did not seem to recognize him; he hadn’t changed his appearance that much. Curious, Spock approached the seller. “Has this slave’s mind been altered?” he demanded.

The Orion appeared startled. “Why do you ask that, sir? Might as well ask if he’s been castrated. You can see for yourself that he hasn’t been changed in any way. Just look at him! Magnificent animal. Healthy, strong, and—if you will notice—very well endowed. He’ll make an excellent breeder.” He smiled nastily. “Or anything else you might think of. What good would he be if he were mindless?”

“But his memory?” Spock insisted.

The Orion’s eyes shifted. “Ah . . . well . . . an unfortunate accident. The tiny cut on his forehead, nothing serious, but he can’t recall anything that happened more than a few weeks ago . . . no details, you understand. Actually, it’s better this way. He won’t get homesick and try running off. But I can assure you, his former owner said he comes from excellent stock . . . bred his line for generations—”

“I’m sure,” Spock cut in drily, and moved back to study the Human again. This was an old trick Orions used for their own safety. It was dangerous to enslave Federation citizens, and they ordinarily didn’t risk it unless the individual was something special. They took safeguards to avoid being traced. The blow on Kirk’s forehead didn’t cause amnesia as the trader had tried to imply. They had evidently placed blocks on the Human’s memory. The procedure could be quite effective if performed by a skilled psycho-surgeon.

The bidding commenced, and it was brisk and steep from the first. Spock stood back and waited patiently. He already knew he wanted Kirk, and he intended to have him whatever the cost. The Human had owned him once without even realizing it; now the idea of owning the Human—really owning him—intrigued the Vulcan. He remained silent as the bids increased steadily, then began tapering off. When the last one had been placed, Spock topped it with one twice as high.

At the sound of Spock’s voice, Kirk’s eyes fell back on the Vulcan, blazing hatred and suspicion. The Human was frightened and bewildered at the circumstances in which he found himself, but he was doing his damndest to keep from showing it. His fists clenched with frustration on the chains at his wrists.

Spock’s bid effectively daunted the competition, and in a few moments he was in possession of one nude Human male, complete with chains. He paid the price and collected his property. “Come with me,” he ordered Kirk, “and remain close.”

Kirk hesitated, considering his new owner calculatingly, then followed him without protest. Ten minutes later Kirk had melted off into the crowd. Spock sighed with exasperation as he went after him. He located the Human in an alley, trying to cut through the chains with a small laser-file he had stolen as they’d gone through the bazaar. When he saw Spock, he cursed and swung his chained fists at the Vulcan’s head. Exceedingly amused, Spock ducked easily, nerve-pinched him, and tossed Kirk over his shoulder. Whatever blocks his captors had placed on Kirk’s memory, his spirit was still intact.

By the time Kirk regained consciousness, they were at Spock’s house. Kirk found himself lying on a pile of large cushions beside a luxurious pool. A fountain splashed musically in the center. The room was large and airy, the ceiling a clear geodesic dome that revealed the night sky. Kirk felt he should know the constellations, but the memory evaded him maddeningly. He was relieved that the chains were gone from his hands, but before he could clear his mind to consider a means of escape, the Vulcan entered.

Spock settled down on the pillows as lithely as a cat. Several servants came in immediately, and served a variety of foods, poured wine, and adjusted the dim lighting brighter. After a while, Spock waved them away and turned his attention to Kirk. “Are you hungry?”

“No,” Kirk replied sullenly.

Spock shrugged. “As you wish. It is really quite good.”

“I didn’t think Vulcans ate meat.”

The eyebrow lifted in vague interest. “What do you know of Vulcans?”

Quick confusion clouded the Human’s eyes. “I don’t . . . I should remember, but . . . “ He trailed off, rubbing his forehead as he tried to catch the elusive memory.

“Do you know me?” Spock asked quickly.

Still confused, Kirk’s gaze lifted to meet Spock. “I don’t know. Should I?”

“No,” Spock answered, while thinking, _No, you wouldn’t know this part of, me. I never permitted you to see it before._ “I am Spock,” he continued. “What do you remember of your life before you were enslaved?”

“Enough to know I’m no one’s slave!”

“Incorrect,” Spock said calmly. “You are mine, and I intend to keep you.”

Kirk’s back straightened. “Why? What do you want from me?” he demanded, forcing it to sound rebellious instead of nervous.

The Vulcan’s gaze lingeringly traveled the length of Kirk’s bare form. “You interest me. In any case, where would you go if you succeeded in escaping me?”

Kirk swallowed uncomfortably, feeling his skin tingle under the scrutiny. “It doesn’t matter . . . anywhere. I won’t be owned.”

“You have no choice, Jim.”

Kirk’s head jerked up and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why did you call me that? Jim . . . Jim. Why that name? I can’t remember . . .” There was a touch of panic in his voice as the familiar chord the name had struck slipped away from him again.

Spock smiled. “A slave must be called something. Jim will do for you.” His tone lowered to a throaty rumble. “Come here, Jim.”

Kirk tensed, his breath catching in his chest. “No.”

The Vulcan’s face hardened. “I am not a patient man, and I do not like to repeat myself. You will obey my orders.” _As I once obeyed yours_ , he added silently to himself.

“No,” Kirk repeated, but there was a trapped look about him—the look of a wild animal at bay, knowing it was too small to win, but still fierce enough to fight—that excited Spock immensely.

The Vulcan held his temper in check and considered the wisest course of action. The thought of mastering Kirk was extremely stimulating, but although taking him by force would be enjoyable, it would be far more arousing if he would yield to him willingly. It would be quite the challenge, convincing this fiercely proud, stubborn Human to submit to him rather than fighting him.

Making up his mind, Spock called to one of the servants and gave her a low-voiced order. She left and returned in a few moments with an intricately carved bottle. Pouring some liquid into a glass, she handed it to Kirk.

“What’s this?” Kirk asked doubtfully.

“Saurian brandy. I thought you might enjoy it.”

“Getting me drunk won’t help you,” Kirk snapped in disgust. “You might as well beat me and get it over with. That’s what happens to disobedient slaves, isn’t it?”

“Having you inebriated would not amuse me. And I will not beat you unless you give me no alternative. Administering pain affords me no pleasure. You do not have to drink the brandy if it does not appeal to you.”

Feeling less threatened, Kirk sipped the brandy appreciatively. It burned pleasantly down his throat, and he felt the tense muscles relax as the effect spread through his body. His anxiety returned, however, when Spock stood, dismissed all the servants, and moved to sit near him. Suddenly Kirk realized the purpose of the brandy. There was a warm tightening in his groin, and a sharp flush of desire raced through him.

“The brandy was drugged,” he accused.

Spock nodded. “Of course. And I am pleased to see that it is effective. You are already aroused.”

“Effective!” Kirk blazed. “Damn you! You had no right—” He tried to stand, but Spock Jerked him back down roughly.

“I have the right to do whatever I wish to you. You are mine now.” Spock looked the Human over carefully, delighted by what he saw. The Vulcan mused, _his eyes are beautiful when he is stormy like this—crystal and smoke_. As Kirk attempted to strike out, Spock caught his hands and pushed him down against the pillows, enjoying the brief, fiery struggle—a struggle Kirk was waging against his own response as much as against the Vulcan. Spock held him easily, pinning both wrists with one hand as he used the other to stroke down the heaving chest, loving the sensual feel of the bunched muscles under the sweat-slicked skin. He tilted up the angry chin and held it firmly while he bent and slid his tongue over the parted lips and began kissing the mouth passionately, careful not to let Kirk bite him. He moved to the rounded ear, exploring it with light, wet caresses, then down the throat, nipping at the pulse there. His hand wandered between the Human’s thighs, fondling the testicles and ass.

Kirk began fighting harder as he felt his cock throbbing in eager reply to the touches, and Spock was forced to use both hands to hold him. The Vulcan realized he was becoming too savagely excited by this battle to wait any longer, so he released Kirk abruptly and began undressing himself.

Kirk looked around, desperately seeking an escape, although his body was raging for him to stay and find a release from the mounting pressure. Furiously he ignored the almost painful ache in his groin and made a break for the door. Spock caught him in an instant and dragged him back to the pillows.

“Stop fighting, little one,” Spock whispered hoarsely, forcing Kirk’s legs apart roughly. “You know what you want.”

“Fuck you!” Kirk gasped, thrashing against him in a panicky effort to get free.

Spock chuckled. “Exactly.” He entered him slowly, drawing out the sensations as long as he could, letting Kirk’s frenzied struggles do most of the actions.

Kirk realized that his movements were actually helping the Vulcan, and he stopped and lay very still. Spock thrust in the rest of the way suddenly, causing Kirk to cry out in startled pain, but then the Vulcan slipped his hand between their bodies and began caressing the Human’s engorged cock until Kirk groaned helplessly and began moving in rhythm. As he climaxed in the milking heat of Spock’s hand, he cried out, both in fury. and in frustration at his inability to stop the response. Satisfied with the result, Spock moved harder and faster into the Human’s body until he, too, came in a delicious burst deep within Kirk.

After a moment, he rolled off the Human, amused when Kirk turned away. He stroked the trembling shoulder. “I believe the expression is ‘relax and enjoy it,’ Jim.”

“Go to hell,” the Human muttered.

Spock smiled knowingly. “Ah, but sometimes there is so little difference between hell and heaven.”

When he received no answer, the Vulcan stood and left, careful to lock the door securely behind him.

Spock left Kirk alone the remainder of the night and all of the next day. He wanted to think over his strategy, and he wanted to give Jim time to consider what had happened. That evening he walked in quietly and knelt beside the sleeping Kirk, who was lying on his stomach beside the pool. He ran his hand up the broad back, entwining his fingers in the silky bright hair. Startled by the unexpected touch, Kirk woke, and pulled back abruptly. Spock smiled at the Human’s reaction, then let his hand wander back down the spine, coming to rest on the buttocks. But as he started to tease between the cheeks, Kirk rolled quickly out of the Vulcan’s reach.

“Still reluctant?” the Vulcan questioned in amusement.

“What did you expect?” Kirk snapped.

“Was it that unpleasant?” Spock’s dark eyes sparkled as he slid closer to the naked Human.

“I hated it!”

Spock was delighted that last night’s reluctant pleasure hadn’t blunted Kirk’s obstinance too soon. He relished the idea of prolonging the conquest. “Of course you did. Perhaps we should try something a little more persuasive.”

The cryptic words caused a flicker of apprehension to flash through the proud eyes. “I think I’ll decline the brandy this time, if that’s what you have in mind.”

“I anticipated your wish to abstain. I do hope you enjoyed your meal. The aphrodisiac takes longer to enter the system, as it has to be diluted more, but it will be as effective.”

Before Kirk could react to that, Spock clutched his arm and jerked him to his feet, pulling him to a set of strategically positioned posts. He tied Kirk’s wrists securely, being certain the leather thongs didn’t cut into the smooth skin, then repeated the action with his ankles, barely avoiding Kirk’s defensive kicks.

Spock surveyed the results with satisfaction: Kirk spread tautly against the bonds, his futile efforts causing the honey-streaked hair to fall across his face. Spock brushed it back impatiently, wanting to see the emotions shifting through his changeable eyes. They were more frightened now, and wary.

Spock let his fingers linger on Kirk’s cheek, enjoying the softness and perfection of the unmarred skin, then absently permitted his hand to slide down the strong neck, bringing his lips down hungrily on the unresponsive mouth. He backed off, holding Kirk’s gaze compellingly, while Kirk waited, uncertain, for the next step.

The Vulcan’s fingertips skimmed lightly down the sleek chest, lazily circling the dark gold nipples. Kirk’s body began to stir restlessly with the combination of the seductive caresses and the drug. As Spock stroked up the insides of his parted thighs to his genitals, Kirk threw back his head and bit his lip to prevent himself from thrusting forward instinctively. Spock continued teasing and petting until the Human’s breathing was ragged and he was shaking with the useless effort to repress his desire.

Spock stepped back, grinning wickedly. “Are you more inclined to be cooperative now?”

Kirk glared at him. “Are you crazy? I won’t ‘cooperate’ no matter what you do. I’m not a trained animal, damn you!”

Spock shrugged. “Obviously I must look elsewhere for my entertainment tonight.”

Puzzled, Kirk watched him as he rang a silver bell to summon a servant. The girl who entered was stunning. She had an Oriental slant to her black eyes, skin as clear and glowing as ancient ivory, hair spilling down to her hips like an ebony waterfall. At a signal from the Vulcan, she unfastened the clasp at her shoulder and her dress fell to her feet, leaving her totally nude. This only aggravated Kirk’s already feverish condition.

Gracefully, she moved to Spock and began removing his silk shirt, eagerly massaging his furred chest. There was no trace of reluctance in her actions, and her almond eyes were already smoldering with desire. Spock combed his fingers through the shimmering weight of her hair, following the curved contours of her body as she unfastened his pants and slid them down. As he fondled her breasts, Spock glanced toward Kirk. “Lovely, isn’t she? Her name is Lesha. One of my favorites, and very expert in the sensual arts.”

Kirk jerked furiously at the ropes. “What are you, some kind of exhibitionist?” he snarled.

“I see no reason to deny myself pleasure simply because you deny it for yourself.” Spock considered Kirk’s remark thoughtfully. “However, I suppose I do derive a degree of satisfaction—probably sadistic—from having you watch me enjoy what you cannot have. And in your present state, it must be somewhat uncomfortable. But it was your choice not to cooperate. Consider this a lesson.”

Spock turned his attention back to the girl, and Kirk turned his head away, determined not to watch. But a few minutes later his resolve weakened, and he looked back, realizing ruefully that if Spock was a sadist, _he_ was a masochist, for there was an irresistible fascination to observe, even if it was painful. His imagination was supplying everything but the sound effects even if he didn’t look, so the erotic tableau wasn’t going to be avoided either way.

One thing Kirk was reluctantly forced to admit: If the girl was faking her responses, she was a consummate actress. As far as he could tell, she was sharing the passion wholeheartedly. She threw her legs over Spock’s shoulders when he entered her, long nails scratching carefully down his back, urging him on. Spock moved into her powerfully, immersed in the sensations, oblivious of anything else.

Kirk decided that this had to be the most exquisite torture he could ever experience. He felt as if he would burst any second, and he wished he could, to relieve the terrible pressure in his groin. He caught himself moving his hips in sympathetic rhythm with the Vulcan’s thrusts, then realized what he was doing. He yanked viciously at the leather ties. To Kirk, it seemed to take forever before both Spock and Lesha were satisfied.

After it was finished, Spock lay beside the girl, kissing her languorously, still savoring the rich feel of her hair and skin. Then, as if just recalling, he looked over at the sweating Human. He smiled at the tense form, and asked Lesha casually, “What do you think of my new acquisition? Delightful, isn’t he?”

Her eyes slid appreciatively over Kirk’s naked body. “He is beautiful.” Then she turned back to touch the Vulcan’s face. “But not so beautiful as you, master.”

He laughed. “As I am vain, I will pretend to believe that.” He stood and pulled her to her feet. “Still . . . I imagine you have a desire to touch him—kiss him, perhaps?”

She lowered her eyes to conceal her eagerness. “If that is what you wish, master.”

He grinned. “Come, then.”

Kirk groaned as Lesha slid her palms up his chest to his neck, pulling his head down to her mouth. He had no trouble responding to this, and he returned her kiss avidly, his cock pressing hard against her bare stomach.

“I think that is sufficient,” Spock broke in cheerfully. “Let us leave him alone to . . . meditate. Do not be concerned, Jim. I will have someone come to release you in an hour or so, after you have had time to . . . calm down a bit.”

Kirk’s eyes flashed fire, but Spock only chuckled as he left the Human to wrestle with his uncompleted passion.

The next night proved to be more difficult. Kirk refused to eat or drink anything all day, and when evening came, Spock was growing impatient with his stubbornness.

“Surely you see the illogic of your plan. You cannot avoid eating or drinking for long. If your intent is to commit suicide, I will furnish you with a weapon that will be much more effective and much quicker.”

“Give me a weapon, and I’ll use it on you,” Kirk promised.

“Why? Because I am trying to persuade you to enjoy the inevitable? Is that such a terrible prospect? Believe me, you could have been purchased by someone far less lenient than I.”

“I don’t consider myself lucky to be a slave to anyone—let alone some kind of traitor!”

“Oh, yes, I was informed that you have been asking questions about me whenever the servants bring you food. Do not expect to start a rebellion. My slaves are all almost embarrassingly loyal. Whatever your impression of me, I am not unnecessarily cruel to my possessions. I understand that is quite unusual in their experience.” Spock paused, considering the Human. “On second thought, perhaps I should have only male slaves serve you. You have quite a skill in inciting females to riot.”

“But you are a traitor, aren’t you?” Kirk insisted. “You’re Vulcan, and that’s a member of the Federation, yet you deal with Romulans.”

“My only allegiance is to myself. To be a traitor would be to work against my own self-interests—and I assure you, I _never_ do that.” He picked up a glass and held it out to Kirk. “Some brandy?”

Kirk only glared at him. Spock sighed. “I do not wish to use force, but I see you insist.”

He forced Kirk’s mouth open and poured in the brandy, giving the Human the choice of drinking or drowning. Kirk choked and sputtered, but enough went down to satisfy the Vulcan. He held the Human firmly and began to lick the spilled brandy off Kirk’s chin and neck.

“Damn you,” Kirk whispered, futilely struggling.

Spock chuckled. “In a moment you will still be cursing me—but enjoying it. Fight if you wish. We shall see how long that lasts.”

His lips came down hungrily on Kirk’s, and his tongue slipped inside the cool mouth. He withdrew abruptly as Kirk’s teeth clamped down. He slapped the Human sharply. “I don’t like pain. Do you?” Kirk’s eyes blazed up at him, green and grey in the dim light, sparkling with repressed tears of frustration. Spock slid a gentle finger across Kirk’s reddened cheek. “Do not try my patience too far, Jim,” he cautioned.

Again he lowered his mouth to Kirk’s, prying the unwilling lips open to his tongue. Again Kirk bit him.

Tasting blood this time, Spock felt a rush of anger and drew his fist back to strike. But when he saw Kirk close his eyes in preparation for the blow, he lowered his hand. The hazel eyes opened, looking confused, when the expected strike did not occur.

Spock’s mind clicked swiftly. The Human anticipated abuse, so another method was called for to achieve the desired results. He pulled Kirk into an easy embrace, stroking his hands through the soft hair. “Let me be kind to you,” he murmured into Kirk’s ear. “I don’t want to hurt you. Permit yourself to feel. Fighting the sensations will gain you nothing. I know. I fought them for years, and this way is better. Much better . . . “

Kirk knew the drug was taking effect, for he felt himself responding to the soft words and touches, his cock pulsing and hardening as the Vulcan’s hands moved soothingly over his skin. Some part of him, however, still rebelled. “I don’t want you. I don’t want _this_ ,” he said desperately.

“Yes, you do,” Spock insisted. “You find much pleasure in this.” He traced his tongue along the pulse in Kirk’s throat. “And this.” He raked his teeth lightly across the erect nipples, then moved down the stomach, leaving a trail of tingling heat, making Kirk too dizzy to notice that Spock was no longer holding down his arms.

“And surely you enjoy this,” Spock continued, and Kirk gasped as he felt Spock’s mouth take him in a long, wet suction.

Although he knew he should fight, too much of him loved this wild sensation, so he lay back, mentally hating it, physically bathing in it. Spock’s mouth was so wonderfully expert and commanding, finding a pace that tuned to Kirk’s body perfectly, teasing and rewarding him in turn. Hands moved down to fondle his testicles and ass; finger slipped in to match the rhythm of the sucking. Kirk felt himself moving with it, soaring, lost in the feelings, uncaring of how or why, fingers tangled in the black silk hair, wanting more, wanting everything . . . reaching . . . reaching . . .

Abruptly Spock pulled away and sat back watching him. Kirk was breathing hard, eyes glazed, body trembling. He stared at Spock blankly, as if he’d been betrayed. “Why did you stop?” he asked breathlessly. “I thought . . . this was . . . what you wanted.”

Spock reclined on the cushions and stretched luxuriously, sensually. The entire situation was erotically pleasing, and he was basking in it. Having Kirk so on the edge, so desperately needful, only heightened and enhanced his own sensations. It was plain that Kirk was shaking with the need for completion.

“Why did you stop?” Kirk demanded again, angry at himself for saying it, and furious at the Vulcan for making it happen. It felt as if every nerve he possessed was on fire, crying for attention. His groin throbbed in disappointment.

“Because I want you to serve me,” Spock said lazily. “I want to use your mouth.”

Kirk tensed. “You . . . want me to . . . “ His eyes shifted to Spock’s large erection.

“For a beginning, yes. And other things.”

“No!” Kirk said sharply. “I won’t be ordered by you. I won’t be owned, and I refuse to act on command like a trained animal.”

Spock smiled slowly. “Very well. Then you will have to suffer.”

Kirk knew it was the drug racing through his body that urged him to comply, to stop fighting, to beg for relief. His hand moved involuntarily to his cock.

Spock caught his wrist in an iron grasp. “No, I won’t permit you to satisfy yourself. You must please me first. Then, perhaps I will watch you. It could be interesting.

Kirk shuddered, fighting his body, his desire, the drug—and steadily losing. The memory of the previous evening was too fresh in his mind, and he didn’t want to have to go through that again. And now, Spock lay there before him, sleek and lithe, his skin greenish-gold in the light—warm flesh, his eyes black and glittering with greedy heat, hair shining raven black against the red pillow, sensuous mouth parted slightly, tongue licking his lips as he waited for Kirk’s answer. There was too much tactile input for the Human to ignore, with the insistent ache of his body begging him to give in. And when it came right down to it, Spock was still giving him a choice. A difficult one, considering the drug—but it was still a choice.

“What do you want?” he whispered hoarsely, surrendering.

Spock smiled again, teeth flashing white, proudly animal. “First kiss me.” A perfect eyebrow arched teasingly. “Preferably without biting.”

Kirk leaned over and placed his lips lightly on the Vulcan’s.

Spock pulled him down until their skin was also kissing all along their bodies, legs intertwined, cocks touching, grazing softly. Kirk groaned, helpless, and gave himself wholly into it. He pushed his tongue into Spock’s mouth, moving over the sharp edge of teeth, tickling the roof of his mouth, sparring moistly with his tongue. Spock’s hands were combing contentedly through Kirk’s hair, tingling along his scalp, holding him, inviting, demanding more passion.

Finally Spock pushed him away, his own breath strangely ragged. “Continue,” he ordered.

Kirk moved down the slim body, caressing the chest and stomach with his mouth and hands. The thighs opened for him readily, and he skimmed his hands between them, causing Spock to arch and spread further. Kirk licked the head of the rigid cock, and it quivered in response.

Spock urged Kirk’s head downward until he took the cock, in his mouth fully and began sucking. The memory of how it felt when the Vulcan did this to him took over, increasing Kirk’s hunger, and his natural inclination was to repeat the actions. He sucked harder, moving his tongue strongly against the shaft; and Spock began to thrust in rhythm, still holding the Human’s head to prevent escape.

After some time, Spock jerked him away. “Get on your knees,” he instructed harshly. When Kirk hesitated, Spock flipped him over and pushed his head down, arching the buttocks toward him.

Kirk was in too much of a daze to protest, and when Spock entered him, the pain was minimal. Soon it was pleasure. And, when Spock reached under and stroked his cock with delightful squeezes, it was ecstasy. Kirk’s instinctive pumping on the hot hand forced him back again and again onto Spock’s organ, which in turn spiraled the wild sensations higher. They continued in frenzied abandon until they reached the searing high point, frozen, unwilling to leave it, then falling over the edge . . . pouring . . . surging . . . pulsing to the end . . . They collapsed weakly together on the cushions, sweating, breath coming in quick gasps.

Later, Kirk lay sleepily against Spock’s shoulder, his entire being limp and deliciously relaxed. Spock kissed him tenderly, gently, taking the last of the passion out in slow measures, savoring the final warm beats.

As the Vulcan moved to kiss his forehead and chin, Kirk spoke, “Will you ever let me go?”

“No. But a more pertinent question is do you really want to go?”

“No. I mean . . . I want to be free, but . . . somehow I think this is where I want to be. That doesn’t make sense, does it?”

Spock kissed him again, smiling. “You would be surprised.”

“How can it? I don’t understand. I didn’t want you . . . didn’t want to like this. If it hadn’t been for the drug, I would have hated it. You must have realized that. Why do you want to keep me when you have to drug me to make me respond?”

“Because, my little Jim, there was no drug this time.”

Kirk’s eyes flew open. “What do you mean? There _had_ to be. I felt—”

“You felt what you wanted to without your inhibitions. I knew you would not accept this kind of surrender any other way. The brandy had nothing to do with it—except as an excuse for you to let yourself feel.”

“That cannot be true. You’re lying.”

“Are you so certain?”

Kirk had no answer, and sleep claimed him before he could answer the question to his own satisfaction.

Spock surveyed the sleeping form with complete enjoyment. He’d accomplished his first objective: he’d made the Human desire him physically. Kirk wouldn’t forget tonight, and he would want it again. The next step would be easy, too. Making Kirk love him should be simple. After all, Kirk had cared for him enough originally to risk his life searching for him. The Human was affectionate by nature; he was drawn to tenderness, seduced by softer passion. No, it would not be difficult . . .

_One day, I might use the meld to erase the blocks on his memory and permit him to know who and what he is. But by that time, he will never wish to leave me. He’ll love me so totally, I’ll own him body and soul . . ._

* * *

The intercom woke Spock from an extremely sound sleep. Reluctantly, he emerged from the beautifully satisfying dreamworld to answer it. He was immediately shocked into total wakefulness by Kirk’s image on the viewscreen. Not an idealized Kirk, but the real one—darker hair, slightly heavier build, eyes a little bloodshot, and looking decidedly haggard.

“Spock, I’m sorry if I woke you, but I was wondering . . .”

“What is it, Captain?” Spock glanced at the chronometer. It was very late. “Is there a problem?”

“Not really,” Kirk replied uncomfortably. “I’ve been having some trouble adjusting to what happened today. I can’t sleep.”

“Perhaps you should consult Dr. McCoy?”

Kirk looked sheepish. “No . . . I was sleeping, but I kept having weird dreams. Nightmares about what happened . . . about my alter ego. I just need to talk to somebody. I think you might understand better than anyone . . . how it felt. Being split like that. Being forced to live with it.” He swallowed, then continued. “I don’t want to bother you, if you’d rather not—”

“I understand, Jim,” Spock interrupted quietly. “I will be there in a moment.” _To say I understand_ ,” he thought wryly, _is certainly an understatement_.

Kirk smiled that sweet, boyish grin that always managed to melt some hard core of Spock’s heart a drop at a time. “Thanks, Spock.”

Spock shut off the viewer and sat for a moment, gathering his shaking control together. The sharp reality of the dream was already fading, and he knew that by tomorrow most of it would be lost, sinking back into his subconscious where it belonged. Part of him regretted the loss; part of him would be relieved to forget.

But there was still tonight to face—and the very real, very vulnerable Jim Kirk.

There were always possibilities . . .


End file.
